Visions & Revisions: Issues in U.S. Women’s History

by Quin Aaron Shakra ’10

Muslim women are “more than their headscarves and hymens,” declared Egyptian-born journalist Mona Eltahawy, keynote speaker of the 2009 Women’s History Conference at Sarah Lawrence College. Her words were an intervention, sustained over two days by a number of speakers and aimed directly at the corporate media, governments, and even some feminists’ portrayal of Muslim religious and cultural practices. At a time when the United States’ military wages open wars on the peoples of Iraq and Afghanistan (both Muslim majority nations), countries such as France outlaw the wearing of headscarves in public school classrooms, and the corporate media uncritically conflates Islamic fundamentalism and Islamic religion, the mere existence of this conference and the Muslim women who spoke at it was a radical statement. Many at the conference asserted an unwavering commitment to universal rights for women; few offered simplistic answers or portrayals of the patriarchal social dynamics that permeate both Muslim and non-Muslim cultures.

Feminism, of course, is rarely a politics of comfort. Its revelations are often decidedly discomforting, for they can destabilize the very foundations of a social world thought to be concrete. Yet, this discomfort should not be conflated with unproductiveness. For instance, one panelist called into question the very title of the conference — “Gender and the Muslim World” — for its use of the definite article “the,” which subtly reinforces a uniformity that many sought to problematize. This question challenges us to analyze concepts that carry an immense cultural currency yet hide the incredible diversity of Muslim individuals and communities.

But no doubt, stereotyped assumptions about Muslim women were also painfully present at the conference. Most of these assumptions manifested specifically around “the veil,” or Muslim women’s clothing choices. “The veil” was lightning rod throughout the conference proceedings. For example, during the Q&A section of the keynote, a white Londoner seemed perplexed why Muslim women would willingly to cover so much of their bodies. This form of questioning points to the work of feminist historian Joan Scott, who argues the veil is an “overdetermined” (The Politics of the Veil, p. 115) symbol that obscures women’s liberation by reducing crucial issues (such as choice, safety from domestic violence, and education) to a simplistic equation of veiled=oppressed; unveiled=liberated.

Western representations link “the veil” to Muslim women and their religious, cultural, and political persecution by the doctrines of Islam, most notably the Qur’an. However, Eltaway played a film that introduced viewers to the fledgling “Musawah: For Equality in the Family” movement, which rendered this misreading of the Qur’an as patently false. Musawah offers an alternative reading of this holy book, which suggests religious practice and progressive gender relationships can co-exist without contradiction.

Jennifer Heath (who came of age in Afghanistan) also offered to salve the veil’s “overdeterminateness.” Her workshop “What Does the Veil Mean to Me?” included a PowerPoint presentation that historicized the veil across a number of cultural, political and religious contexts. “The veil does not belong to one people, time, and place,” Heath stated.

Still, Heath’s words that “Most women are sick and tired of hearing about the veil — but we can’t get away from it” carried an ominous accuracy throughout the conference proceedings. A peer informed me of a particularly tense intergenerational exchange between presenters and participants — both Muslim women — that occurred in the “Veiled Politics in Western Europe” panel. Whereas Eltaway obviated potential tension by answering the aforementioned Londoner’s question gracefully, I was told that the director of the women’s history program stepped in to mediate the dispute between the Muslim women. Discomfort, indeed.

While the veil is one site of protracted symbolic struggle that has real social implications, it is by no means the only. Other presenters discussed representation and Muslim women’s resistance to Western stereotypes in a broader sense, especially through artistic and visual mediums. In the “Through Western Eyes” panel, Sarah Carnahan provocatively linked Judith Butler’s writing on vulnerability and the question of “Who is grieveable?” to the Palestinian-American Suheir Hammad’s poem “First Writing Since.”

Butler suggests that shared vulnerability is what allows humans to find a basis for community, or a tentative sense of “we.” However, our ability to view other human begins as vulnerable — and thus grievable — is always conditioned by the norms of a given society. If groups of humans are not seen as possessors of such norms, they become “unintelligible” subjects, or less than human, and thus not grievable.

Hammad’s writing rehumanizes Arabs and Muslims in the wake of the September 11th attacks. Some died in the attacks while many others face (and still face) the brunt of white racial violence in the aftermath:

we are looking for iris, mother of three. please call with any information. we are searching for priti, last seen on the 103rd floor. she was talking to her husband on the phone and the line went. please help us find george, also known as a! ! del. his family is waiting for him with his favorite meal. i am looking for my son, who was delivering coffee. i am looking for my sister girl, she started her job on monday.

Carnahan, following Butler, suggests Hammad’s work can offer a basis for Westerners to view Arab and Muslim lives as grievable, therefore initiating a more inclusive form of human community.

In two days I learned more about the history, politics, and religious views of Muslims than I had in my 27 previous years of life. By the end of the conference the Muslim world became Muslim religions, Muslim peoples, Muslim cultures, whose identities are not reducible to “Muslim majority nations,” but essentially to human beings. This event exemplifies why I was drawn to feminist politics and an intellectual life in the first place: to move through ignorance and discomfort and become a more compassionate and caring individual in my encounters with others.